‘Surely,’ thought he, ‘these girls must have mothers and fathers, who grieve over their disgrace and degradation; and many of them must have brothers—what must their feelings be to see their sisters in such a position?’ And he would utter a silent prayer for God to keep his sisters innocent and pure. Of course Steve’s horror of bars and barmaids gradually lessened, and he afterwards even went so far as to accept an invitation from a friend now and again to ‘Come and have something cooling this hot weather,’ or, ‘something warming this cold day?’ (for alcohol seems to have the power to cool on hot days and warm on cold days); but he never allowed himself to acquire the habit of frequenting these places, and when he did enter them, he always treated the barmaids with the utmost respect; for, said he, ‘The question is not, whether they are ladies, but whether I am a gentleman.’

Through his always keeping from bad places, and only going to places where he was sure respectability was guaranteed, he soon got into a good circle of society in Pretoria. He was received and welcomed in the best families, but his pride kept him from taking full advantage of this. He was too poor to meet them on equal terms, and rather than meet them as an inferior, even though it were only in purse, he would rather not meet them at all, except in a casual way now and again. For Steve was proud, and, what is more, he was proud of his pride. ‘For,’ said he, ‘if it were not for my pride, I would do many a wrong action which now I am too proud to do.’ He was never too proud to do a good action. He would stop and speak to the poorest beggar on the street if he could do good by it. He would walk alongside of a poor, ill-dressed person in the street, were his clothes ever so much patched; his hat so old that it hung over his eyes; he would never think of his dress, if it were a hard-working, honest man. But he was too proud to be seen in the company of a well-dressed, idle, good-for-nothing, bar-frequenting, prostitute-hunting man. He was too proud to speak or know a flighty, forward woman. And who shall say that he was wrong?

CHAPTER XIX
A DEBATE

As we have said before, Steve and his fellow-boarders sometimes constituted themselves into a sort of debating society, in which the public questions of the day were generally discussed. Let us follow Steve into the drawing-room, which he is just entering as a heated debate is on.

‘Hullo, Keith, at it again as usual, running down the powers that be of the land we live in,’ remarked Steve on entering. ‘What is the use of knocking your head against a rock; for I tell you this Government is as firmly established as a rock. Have you ever seen a big old mastiff walking along the street, calm and self-contained, a troop of curs following, barking and snapping at him, without the mastiff taking the least notice of their noise or snaps. Well, Oom Paul is the mastiff, the newspapers that abuse him and petty pot politicians (I hope the shoe won’t fit you) are the curs; there you have my opinion.’

‘So you think it currish to stand up for your rights, and agitate for it?’

‘By no means.’

‘What do you mean then?’

‘I think it currish to be perpetually barking and snapping at a man, as so many of the Jingo imperialistic papers and private amateur politicians are continually doing. You do not see it because you do not wish to do so; but just watch the actions of the Government, no matter what they may do or decide upon doing, but it is reviled and cried down. They may do something with the most honest intention of pleasing the Uitlanders, but some sinister intention is found, or supposed to be found, lurking behind it. No contract is given out for some public work, no matter if the man be the best workman and has sent in the lowest tender, but somebody is sure to have taken a bribe from the contractor to work into his hands, and so with everything, just because it is a Boer Government; any stick will do to beat a dog with, or—a Boer official.’